


Coping with Loss: A Banshee's Guide to not Waking the Neighbors

by circumlocute



Series: Inhumans Anonymous: Support for the Supernatural [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Banshees, Bro Is A Piece Of Shit In All My AUs, Child Abuse, Gen, Trans Male Character, Violence, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 10:31:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12792687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circumlocute/pseuds/circumlocute
Summary: Everybody out of the god damn way. Dave has a head full of yelling, a mouth full of empty, a sister full of meddling, and a Bro full of shit.The first three are the least of his worries.(It's not necessary to read the previous work before this one.)





	Coping with Loss: A Banshee's Guide to not Waking the Neighbors

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the tone whiplash, everyone. While part one dealt with some heavy topics, there was a lot more humor to soften the blow. I'm afraid that's not as much the case with this one, so please mind the tags and tread lightly.

Sometimes, Dave feels like the redheaded stepchild. Literally. Because he has red hair. Haha. Okay, that joke was dead before it even started. It’s roadkill on the comedy highway, attracting flies and shit. Some poor government worker has to scoop it up so no one flattens it any more. 

There was a point in there somewhere. Anyway. Redheaded stepchild. Because of the red hair, obviously, but also, hm. Dirk’s great and all, but he’s only like three years older than Dave and has the social skills of a rock. He’s a damn sight better to live with than Bro, yeah, but it’s. Weird. 

Bro was, uh. He should probably never have been allowed near children, Dave thinks. Technically, he’s Dave’s dad and  _ Dirk’s  _ brother, but a normal fucking family unit wasn’t ironic enough for the old man. Or whatever. 

Dave was a mistake, he knows this intimately. Bro liked to remind him of that on the rare occasions he ever fucking talked to him, which was just, yeah, that was great. Really key in Dave’s development as a person. Dave came about from a desperate bid for Bro to prove he wasn’t gay, or something—dude’s a fuckin’ flamer but like  _ hell  _ he’d ever say it to the guy’s face. Anyway, Dave popped out nine months later and Bro, out of the ~*~goodness of his heart~*~ volunteered to take sole custody when mommy dearest couldn’t handle raising not one, but  _ two  _ little girls. 

Yeah. Dave’s gonna...not think about that part. Dirk introduced him to Rose for the first time in meatspace, she’s great, total twinsies except for Dave’s fucking hair, right down to the chromosomes. She never slipped up on calling him a dude, she likes him, it’s just. Dave’s jealous, kind of. Because he hasn’t heard good things about mom Lalonde, but at least she didn’t drag Rose up to the roof for a regularly scheduled ass-kicking. 

Bro didn’t take him out of any goodness or desire for parenthood. There’s no goodness in Bro’s heart. At least, not any that was ever reserved for Dave. He raised him out of some fucked-up mix of duty and paranoia. Because Dave’s genetics don’t hate him  _ enough  _ already, oh no, there’s a whole ooky-spooky reason he’s the only carrot top in a family full of natural blondes. 

Dave is, by the strictest definition, not human. Bro’s family apparently has a history of popping out redheaded chicks (and Dave) with lungs of steel and the ability to predict when someone’s going to die. And, well, shit. He was convinced that Dave could  _ somehow _ cause Bro’s untimely demise should Dave ever be let out of sight. 

Dave bought the crock of shit wholesale until he was six or seven, maybe, and then he started to realize that all the other kids in his class were totally normal. That none of  _ them  _ had any weight on their shoulders beyond finishing their homework on time. Shit like  _ banshees  _ and  _ spirits  _ were only real in movies and the minds of superstitious crazy people. 

And then the nice old lady in the apartment below theirs, the lady that liked to give Dave peanut butter cookies sometimes, got cancer. And he literally, physically, could not stop screaming about it. She was  _ dying,  _ she was going to die and Dave could  _ tell,  _ he could  _ tell  _ and no one else knew and no one was  _ listening.  _ He knew when and where and how and it was  _ soon  _ and no one could stop it. Too bad the inevitability didn’t stop Dave from screaming his goddamn lungs out and quite fucking literally making the window panes rattle. 

Turns out, though, not even supernatural death precognition is immune to a swift kick in the ribs or ten. Bro almost put him in the hospital, that night. Almost, but not quite, because Bro was too smart to leave that much evidence. 

Things changed, after that night. If Dave inhaled too deeply before asking if he could watch a movie, it was time for an ass-kicking. If Dave mumbled too loudly under his breath, it was time for an ass-kicking. If Dave asked too many times for pizza money, it was time for an ass-kicking. Actually, that one, uh. That one wasn’t new. 

It was like  _ any  _ noise Dave made could have been heralding Bro’s own death. It wasn’t like they talked much before, but now the apartment was almost always deathly (ha) quiet. Dave took to listening to music with headphones on, in case  _ that  _ was too loud and somehow wrong. (He always left one earbud out, though, so he could hear the lock click). 

Dave stopped talking, for the most part. He was always a fucking motor mouth, anyway, and no one likes a chatterbox. It was easier for everyone if he just shut the fuck up. Opening his mouth to answer a question in school made his throat tighten and his palms sweat, and sometimes his ribs would hurt like they were broken again. No fucking thank you. Dave talked a lot in his head, to himself, and typed long essays about nothing to his internet friends. That was safe. That was fine. He couldn’t get dragged up to the roof for  _ thinking  _ too loudly. Probably. 

As long as Dave was quiet and stayed out of the way, the showdowns on the roof were kept to a sweet, sweet minimum. When Dave was being quiet, Bro didn’t give a fuck about him. Bro didn’t give a fuck when Dave cut all his hair in the sink with one of the shorter garbage swords (because, really, scissors just. Totally ruin the image of a cool ninja. Ninjas don’t need scissors. Sword haircut ftw.) Bro didn’t care when he started going by Dave, either, but it’s not like Dave was going to  _ tell him  _ or like Bro ever used his name  _ anyway.  _ So maybe that one didn’t count. 

Sometimes people near Dave still set him off, though. ‘Cause, like. People die. And when someone down the street is getting mugged and Dave  _ knows,  _ when he can  _ feel it,  _ no amount of training himself into silence and begging himself to be quiet, just this once, works. He can’t not start wailing and yelling any more than he can not breathe. So. Bro can’t not kick his ass until he finally hurts too bad to inhale properly. It works, so like. If he didn’t want his shit kicked in, he should learn to shut the fuck up. Haha, that’s. That’s not a great memory.

 

* * *

 

Dave’s twelve again.

By some miracle, despite his status as a certified grade-A freak, Dave makes more friends online. He meets Rose some time around there. She tells him they’re related, and she knows what he can do, and “You and I, we’re sort of the same.” She says her mom—their mom—is filthy fucking rich and that if Dave can hold out until he’s eighteen, that she’ll see what she can do. So they can meet. So Dave can leave. He...doesn’t really believe her, who would? But he’s been an only child for so long that even if this never pans out, it’s nice to pretend he has a sister out there somewhere who gives a shit about him. 

Despite the odds, he makes it to eighteen. He never gets tall or muscular enough to fight off Bro, and he feels like even if he was a bodybuilder, Bro could still grind his face into the fucking cement. It always feels like Dave is still four feet tall and fifty pounds soaking wet, when Bro is looking at him.

When Rose messages him, it’s not something Dave ever expected, not in his  _ wildest  _ fantasies, not even when he was daydreaming about maybe being a successful artist or rapper and never going back to Houston again.

 

TT: Pack your bags. Our uncle is coming to pick you up, if you’re interested in going. 

TT: Merry non-denominational winter celebration, Dave. 

TG: wow thats possibly the most ominous way you could have phrased that

TG: uncle

TG: i have a fucking uncle?

TT: You do. Not the creepy kind of uncle, I know that’s what you’re thinking.

TT: Frankly, he’s painfully awkward, but he has a car and does not have two tipsy women to corral. 

TT: He’s also lived with Bro before, which is not an experience I can say I’m familiar with. He speaks the grunting, sweaty language of “dudes.” I trust him better to handle this without issue than I. 

TG: uh huh

TG: and this wouldnt be because youre actually stealing the pics youve sent me from some poor unsuspecting girls facebook page and youre really just some 46 year old man trying to lure me away into the night

TT: Implying I wouldn’t have already lured you away if I was a predator. For shame, Dave. You insult my skills.

TG: maybe youre playing the long game

TG: youre wily like that

TT: His name is Dirk, and he’s 21. He’s a robotics major. He has social anxiety and cries if you yell at him, although he’ll deny that if pressed. He grew up in Texas and moved here to go to college near Roxy.

TT: He has an apartment with a spare bedroom.

TG: ill think on it

TG: im not saying no but im not saying yes

TT: So what are you saying?

TG: im saying if he shows up and he creeps me out im gonna stay here and let bro kick my ass for giving out the address

TG: even though i didnt and you just fucking magicked it out of your asshole like you did my name and my fucking chumhandle nbd youre my favorite stalker rosie

TT: I suppose that’s only fair. I really wish you’d reconsider, though.

TG: nope

TG: i gotta go anyway i got a lotta shit on my plate

TG: making sick raps gotta update sbahj gotta contemplate the yawning void of the abyss

TG: you know how it be

TT: Goodnight, Dave.

 

Dave...yeah, Dave doesn’t pack. He actually kind of forgets about the whole thing, until there’s a knock at the door. Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh shit oh fuck. Bro goes to get it, and Dave starts cramming whatever he can into a duffel bag. He’s gonna have to leave his mixing gear. Fuck!

He realizes halfway through wrapping a jarred scorpion in a shirt that he hasn’t even assessed this supposed Dirk’s creep factor. Okay. Gotta...gotta do that. Bro is a known quantity, right, Dave (mostly) knows what to do to avoid getting his ass beat, and he knows what to expect when the apartment goes quiet(er) and he finds a note telling him to get on the roof. Dirk is new. 

Dave pokes his head out of his bedroom doorway.

Dirk is like… Bro in miniature. He’s scrawnier, probably from all that time not spent beating up kids, but the eyes, the hair, the fucking awful anime shades. It’s the same. He has a Rainbow Dash shirt on. 

That’s almost more terrifying than some giant sweaty rando, honestly. Oh, god, there’s two of him. Dave realizes, distantly, that he’s shaking. Fucking stupid lizard brain, fuck you. He doesn’t know shit about this guy (that’s worse), maybe he’s not bad. Rose likes him. 

The longer he (’s frozen in place) looks, the more differences Dave notices. Dirk’s not making eye contact, his shades don’t even hide it, his whole head is tilted slightly down and to the side. Bro never does that. Bro always looks at Dave, straight on or out of the corner of his eyes, Dave can  _ feel  _ Bro’s gaze on him, almost always. 

“Dirk,” Bro says, and Dave nearly pisses himself at the sound of his voice. He doesn’t sound  _ angry,  _ he never sounds angry, but that tone is the tone that precedes the worst shit.

“Hey, bro, long time no see.” Dirk’s voice is higher pitched and there’s more emotion in it, although that’s not saying fucking much. “I’m here to pick up Dave.”

They keep talking, quieter now. Dave can’t hear. He thinks Dirk can see him. Oh, god. Dave darts back into his room and focuses on cramming shit into the duffel bag. If he’s busy making sure nothing breaks and leaks formaldehyde all over his underwear, he can’t flip shit. He’s not even sure if he’s going to go, he just...can’t sit here and do nothing while Bro and his Mini-Me try and decide who the alpha male is. Or whatever the fuck it is they’re doing. 

“Hey.”

Dave freezes. That. Is a voice. In his doorway. He slowly turns his head.

Dirk is standing awkwardly in the threshold, leaning against the doorframe like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to come in. Bro just...comes and goes as he pleases. He pays for the apartment, he gets to go anywhere in the apartment. It makes sense.

Dave wants to say something, he really fucking does, but his heart is hammering in his ears and his throat feels like it’s trying to glue itself shut. He looks so much like Bro. Dave opts for a nod.

“Do you, uh. Want some help packing your shit?”

Dave shakes his head a little more vehemently than he meant to. No, no thank you, this is fine, he’s got this. He’s only taking a few of his favorite specimens. Bro’s probably going to throw out the rest, which makes Dave more upset than he’d like. At least the turntables will probably get some use. 

Camera, film, laptop, laptop charger, some more clothes. The duffel bag is starting to look pretty crowded. Dave pulls on a loose hoodie and crams some earbuds and his phone charger in the pocket. The phone itself goes into his pants pocket, and his good over-the-ear headphones go around his neck. Dave’s still telling himself he hasn’t made up his mind, but fuck. There’s no way this dude  _ isn’t  _ related to them, right, with his whole...face, and the way Bro reacted. And really, what’s the difference between one apartment shared with an older weeb and the next? 

Fuck it. At least this way he has a chance of meeting Rose. Dave stands up and lifts his duffel bag, holding it from the bottom with both hands. He. Really does not want to break his specimen jars. Packing them was probably kind of a stupid idea but  _ fuck  _ if he’s gonna leave them all. This diaphonized mouse needs him. 

“Okay. Sick. Let’s hit the road before any more shenanigans decide that we’ve had it too good for too long.”

Well.  _ That’s  _ more words right there than Bro’s said to Dave in a month. They’re definitely not the same dude, even if Dave’s brain is still screaming. He’s. Haha. He’s about to get into a car with this dude and drive to New York. Holy fuck. Dave can’t even drive, Bro wouldn’t pay for the lessons and  _ definitely  _ wasn’t going to teach some whiny brat how to drive a car. Public transport exists for a reason. 

Rose, though. He can do this, for Rose. If shit looks sketchy, he’ll cut and run when Dirk stops for gas or something. It’ll work out, probably. Dave squares his shoulders and follows Dirk out the door. Bro’s on the couch, patching up one of his fucking puppets, and doesn’t even lift his head when Dave walks past him. 

It’s dark out already, but Dirk doesn’t seem to mind that he’s going to be driving through normal human sleeping hours. Dave kind of minds, but he’s not going to sleep in the car. Fuck no. He watches the scenery and keeps an eye on the driver’s side in his periphery. 

Dirk seems kind of nervous. Dave feels shitty for thinking well,  _ good,  _ at least you picked up on how weird it is to follow your niece’s crazy scheme to kidnap her brother and bring him halfway across the country. 

Eventually, Dirk glances sideways at him when they pull up to a stoplight.

“Sorry I’m not all rollin’ out the red carpet for conversation, I know that shit’s rude as hell.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “I’ll admit, I was kind of hoping you’d be carrying the weight of the chatting. Communicating with other humans face-to-face, or I guess side-by-side in this case, that’s not exactly my forte. And, uh. Rose said you were a talker. Guess she was wrong about that? Makes sense. She’s not omnipotent, even if she likes to pretend, and she’s never met you in person before.”

Green light. Dirk starts driving again. Dave shrugs.

“Okay.” Dirk doesn’t talk again. Eventually, Dave puts in one earbud and focuses on the street lights passing by. 

It’s obscenely late by the time they pull into a hotel parking lot. The hotel does not seem to give a single fuck about this, and is nice enough that Dave feels kind of guilty for existing there. He feels like that one nasty dude in Charlie Brown, all tracking his dirt cloud and his ratty shoes and Goodwill chic into this hotel.

Dave’s phone tells him they’re in Memphis. Jesus christ. He spends a while looking at the map and trying to visualize how at least twenty more hours in a car with his uncle is going to go. When that gets boring, he sends Rose several paragraphs of text she won’t read until she wakes up. Why the fuck do hotel check-ins take so long? It’s like three in the morning, there’s no one around, shouldn’t this be easy?

Eventually, Dirk turns around and holds out a plastic room card.

“One for you and one for me. We got adjoining rooms, so if you need anything I’ll be one room over.”

Dave only feels a little guilty for locking his door into Dirk’s room. He said  _ if  _ Dave needed anything to use it, and he doesn’t. Need anything. The door to the rest of the hotel locks, too. 

It’s only then that Dave lets himself curl up on the mattress and cry. 

 

* * *

 

Dave didn’t end up having to cut and run, and made it to New York without incident. As evidenced by living with Dirk now. Rose said if he wanted, he could move in with her or she could see about convincing mom to buy him an apartment, but. No. Roxy and mom have been nursing drinking problems for as long as Dave’s known they existed, and he’s not about that life. He’s also never lived on his own.

Dirk had clearly hastily moved shit out of Dave’s new room, judging by the disarray in the rest of the apartment, but he took the futon without complaint. Spare room, yeah right. Dave feels guilty about it, but he still can’t make himself  _ talk  _ to Dirk, and no one wants a random message like “hey what up its kind of fucked up you had to move out of your bedroom for me isnt it i mean no biggie it just keeps me awake at night so how are you.”

He feels bad about still not being able to talk to Dirk, he really does, especially because Dirk is...nice, despite being completely fucking weird. He’s a total nerd who spends most of his time programming AIs or fucking with robots, but he gave Dave a room with a door that  _ locks,  _ and never barges in unannounced. But, as nice as he is, that doesn’t change the fact that he’s got Bro’s face. And some part of Dave’s brain just... shuts down, when he sees him.

So. Yeah. Time passes. Roxy quits drinking. Rose takes it up, then quits, then starts again. And so on. Dave still can’t talk to Dirk, or around Dirk. 

Eventually, Rose sends Dave another ominous message.

 

TT: Roxy’s getting together a group.

TG: what like a dnd group? im not interested you guys would just kick me out for playing a relentlessly horny bard

TT: You underestimate the relentless horniness of Roxy’s wizard. As entertaining as that would be, however, that’s not what this is. 

TT: She’s starting a support group. For people like us.

TG: like us how

TT: Like us the way I can see possible outcomes and you, well. You know. Like us the way Jade can turn into a huge fucking white wolf.

TG: oh

TT: I think you should go.

TG: no

TT: Jade’s going.

TG: nope

TT: You don’t have to say anything.

TG: cool i wasnt gonna anyway

TG: because the answer is no

TT: Will you come with me?

TG: dammit rose

TT: Just one meeting, I promise. You can keep coming back if you like it, I just.

TT: I don’t want to go alone. Roxy’s family, obviously, but in a situation like this it’s going to be different. There’s going to be other people, and I want to hear about their experiences to help put context to my own, but…

TT: Everyone has these  _ labels,  _ Dave. I mean, I’m sporting a fair few of my own, but not like that. You have vampires and werewolves and all sorts of other people who know what they are. I can’t even really call myself a witch, I’m hardly skilled. 

TT: I just see things. You’re a banshee, we know that, we know what you can do and how to find other people like you. I’m not anything, I’m the way I am because you’re my twin.

TT: I’m leftovers. 

TG: oh man rose

TG: alright ill go but only because my weird baby magic corrupted you

TG: no guarantees after this one ok

TT: Thank you.

 

Dave goes to the inaugural meeting so Rose can hold his hand while she talks, and he just...doesn’t stop going. Rose comes occasionally, but it’s nice to have a routine. Somewhere to go and get out of the house, see other people like him. Dirk probably likes the alone time. Sometimes it’s just him and Roxy, and sometimes he knows the attendees well enough for his stupid voicebox to unglue itself and let him mumble a few words about shit. He gets to know Jade better. He gets a crush on Jade. He gets over the crush on Jade, because she’s way out of his league and the idea of working up the nerve to talk to her about it is laughable. 

Bro never calls.

Things are...okay.

**Author's Note:**

> /Inflicts my favorite Dave hair color on you all for plot reasons.


End file.
